


Frozen Thoughts

by muttthecowcat22



Series: Yuri on Ice Oneshots [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Crying, Episode 9, Fluff, M/M, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muttthecowcat22/pseuds/muttthecowcat22
Summary: The night Yuuri returns home from the Rostelecom Cup, he learns something new about Victor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the airport scene in episode 9. The first part is told from Yuuri's point of view, and the second part is told from Victor's POV.

Yuuri opened his eyes to darkness and warmth. He could just make out the contours of his room through the darkness: his old wooden desk and chair, the shadow of his cactus (the only plant he could keep alive), the walls, bare without his posters of Victor. For so long, he had wanted to rehang them, but he realized, he didn’t need them anymore. The bright numbers on his phone seared through the darkness, 3:03. Why was he awake at three in the morning?

He was so glad to be home! The loneliness of the final days of the Rostelecom Cup had reminded him of the time he had spent in Detroit away from his family. Before he had met Phichit in his final year there, he had felt truly alone. He wasn’t the type of person to reach out to others. He only came into direct contact with the other students in the skating program and his coach. Every day, he had eaten every meal alone, gone to class alone, and walked straight back to his room alone to finish his homework before going to sleep. He had never even gotten to the point where he could speak freely to his roommate (well, the one before Phichit anyway). At the time, he had thought that it didn’t bother him. He desperately wanted to build relationships with the people around him, but, at the same time, he couldn’t stand to be noticed by anyone. 

And yet, he was a figure skater. He wore stunning outfits to skate in a rink in which thousands of people could notice him, and he loved it. It was the only way he could reach out, the one way that he could communicate with other people. He also wanted to be like that outside the rink, to be one of those people who could draw others to themselves. Victor was one of those people; perhaps, that was another reason why Yuuri had always admired him. Phichit was one of those people as well. These warm people, apparently, were the only kind of people that he could really connect with. 

The sheets rustled beside him. Victor, his back turned towards Yuuri, fidgeted in his sleep. His body radiated a deep warmth that Yuuri could feel even with a few inches between them, while Makkachin slowly heated Yuuri’s feet. Yuuri lay quietly in a warm and content silence, expecting to hear Victor’s steady breathing beside him. Instead, several high pitched breaths broke the darkness, followed by long moments of silence. Yuri sat up in alarm. The dull reddish street light filtered through the blinds of the window, glancing faintly off Victor’s face and hair. The light reflected brightly on something shiny snaking along Victor’s nose. Without glasses, Yuuri could barely make it out. 

Yuuri watched intently for a few more minutes, and, with each ragged breath, a bright tear rolled down Victor’s cheek and off his nose. Yuuri was stunned: Victor was crying. What should he do? Had he ever even seen Victor upset before? So, why was he crying in his sleep? Maybe he always cried in his sleep so that no one else could see him. Yuuri hoped not. He hoped this was the only time, but he couldn’t keep the thought out of his head. Maybe he should just leave Victor alone, let him cry it out. It might embarrass him if Yuuri woke him up. But, Yuuri had to stop that train of thought. Victor wasn’t like him. Victor was the kind of person who would want to be touched. 

“Victor . . .” Yuuri tapped him on the back but received no response. “Victor . . . Victor, wake up,” and he shook Victor’s arm.  
Victor inhaled deeply and, after a moment, turned over. “Yuu . . . ri, —you’re here.” His voice raggedly caught. His eyes shone more than normal as he reached his own hand up to wipe the tears from his slightly shocked face, but they continued to flow. He couldn’t stop.

What to do now?! Yuuri had to stop himself from asking what was wrong. He didn’t have his glasses and it was dark, but he could tell that Victor had turned his face slightly away from Yuuri, into his pillow. Of course, Victor didn’t want talk, but he was still one of those people who want to be touched, who want to be connected, Yuuri thought. So he slid his arms under Victor’s own and wrapped him in a tight hug.

At first, Victor didn’t respond. But, slowly, his arms slid around Yuuri’s back, his hands gradually balling into fists around Yuuri’s shirt. He buried his face in Yuuri’s shoulder and neck. His entire body tremored with each ragged breath, which came more often as he cried more and more freely.

As Yuuri felt the cold tears absorb into his shirt along his shoulder then his back, he wondered again if Victor often cried in his sleep? He had never really slept with Victor (or should he say beside Victor) before. Ever since the Cup of China, there had been no time to relax or think about their relationship. Although, Yuuri had to admit to himself, this was really his own fault. He tended to shy away from these things. Victor could touch him, hold him, kiss him; Yuri could handle this—Yuri liked this. Thinking about anything more made Yuuri . . . worried? He couldn’t even explain it to himself—no, that was a lie. He could explain it to himself, if he was being honest; it was his anxiety. He had been able to put a word to the feeling ever since his failure at the Grand Prix Final. He knew if he could ever just get over himself, get over the feeling that he wasn’t good enough to do anything at all, and just focus on Victor . . . but he just couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense; he felt truly crippled. 

But that night, the relief, the warmth and comfort that Yuuri had felt at the airport had pushed him over the edge. He couldn’t bring himself to let Victor go. He had asked him to stay in his own room that night, something he could never bring himself to consider before. What if Victor cried like this every night? Could Yuuri have helped him sooner? He gripped Victor more tightly.

They stayed that way for a long time – Yuuri didn’t know how long – thirty minutes, an hour – until Victor’s breathing became more regular. Yuuri ran one hand through Victor’s hair, soft, fine unlike his own. Victor’s fists gradually relaxed. Yuuri softly brought his lips to the side of Victor’s head and let them rest on his fine hair.

Then, he heard Victor laugh. It was a soft and broken laugh, but it was still there. “Are you looking for my bald spot again, Yuuri?”

“You’re not going bald. Your hair’s just beautiful. That’s all. It’s a pleasure to touch it.”

“Oh . . .” Victor’s voice trailed off. Yuuri gradually felt the full weight of Victor’s head come to rest on his shoulder and chest. Victor’s breathing slowly became deep and regular, as it should have been before. Yuuri could feel his chest rise and fall slowly. Victor must have been exhausted. How long had he waited at the airport?

Yuuri had an odd feeling, as if he was looking at himself from the street outside the window, as he realized how Victor loved him. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew. Victor never had to say anything; he still knew. And Yuuri really, truly loved him back . . . that’s why he had decided to send Victor back to Russia after the Grand Prix Final, win or lose. It was the right thing to do, even if it was a detriment to himself. It was the right thing for Victor to skate again; he really believed that. The problem was, that at this point, it would devastate him to let Victor go. Yuuri was so happy; he couldn’t believe his life. He had looked up to Victor for so long, wanted to be like Victor, to attract people like Victor, to inspire other people like Victor, but he had never been able to achieve any of that. And yet, Victor had come all the way to Japan just because of Yuuri; he had seen beauty in plain, old Yuuri’s skating. And now, Victor was here, and he loved plain old Yuuri. He didn’t have to try to be anything that he wasn’t for Victor. And yet, Yuuri had felt himself change anyway. Victor had given him the support that he needed to be confident, to be the person he had always wanted to be. 

This time, though, he wanted to be selfish, to ask Victor to stay forever. Tears began to well up in his eyes, but Yuuri stopped them. He shouldn’t cry; this was his decision. But . . . what if Victor cried because he knew about Yuuri’s decision and did not want to leave? . . . But, there was no way that Victor knew about that decision; anyways, he couldn’t be truly happy unless he started skating again, Yuuri felt this with his heart. . . . But what if Victor was able to tell just from Yuuri’s behavior; what if Yuuri really had hurt him to that extent? Maybe he should just ask – No, he had already decided; if he thought about it anymore, he would lose his resolve completely. 

“I love you, Vitya.” He whispered the name he had heard so often at the Rostelecom Cup and let his head drop back onto his pillow. Was it too much to admit that out loud, if he would have to let him go after all?

Victor’s breath caught for a moment, but almost immediately resumed its regular rise and fall. And Yuuri’s eyes closed slowly as he drifted off back to sleep.

 

~

 

Victor stood at the side of the rink, cheering. Yuuri had just completed his free skate program at the Grand Prix Final. He had landed all his jumps, including the quad flip at the very end. It was enough to win gold, even against JJ. Victor held out his arms to Yuuri, but Yuuri, strangely, didn’t run into his hug. Instead, he stepped off the ice and walked right past Victor. Victor ran after him, but Yuuri managed to maintain a distance a few steps ahead of him. He felt a deep pull in his gut as the bright lights of the rink beat down on him, a pull that had been there for a long time but that Victor had managed to press down. Now, as he ran behind Yuuri, ever faster, the pull came back full force; he wanted to vomit. His pace slowed until he came to a complete stop.

Yuuri stopped too. Relief washed over Victor, and he reached out a trembling hand to grab the hem of Yuuri’s jacket. Then, suddenly, Yuuri’s kind, round face turned towards him. His large brown eyes held something within them, shining and hard. What was that? Determination? 

“Victor,” Yuuri began, his voice, soft and sincere as always, “I-I’m sorry. I-, well, I needed to collect my thoughts.” The determination now rose into his voice as well. “I don’t want you to be my coach anymore; you’re free to go.”

So, it was true then, huh? It didn’t hit him like he expected. He didn’t shatter; he just melted away, defeated. He had given up everything he had ever known about his life. He had always lived in St. Petersburg. He liked living there; he knew so many people there in all his personal nooks in the city. He imagined he knew every seagull on the beach, who left and returned each time, one year older. He had always skated; he couldn’t remember a time that he hadn’t skated. He had always skated only for himself, for his pleasure, for his place in his society, for his purpose in life. 

He had given all that up to coach Yuuri Katsuki. He had flown to Japan expecting Yuuri to welcome him with opened arms, to tell him that he was making the right decision, to assure him that their relationship was worth giving up all those other things about his life. But Yuuri had hardly looked at him, much less spoken to him or comforted him about anything. That’s when that feeling, that pull in the core of his body had begun. Had he literately given up everything in his life for nothing? Had he just been stupid, like Yakov had said? He had thought that Yuuri would send him home within two days of his arrival at Hatsetsu. But, Yuuri let him stay. He had continued to let Victor stay. Victor eventually realized that Yuuri was shy, that he actually wanted Victor to stay.

And yet, here was the same Yuuri, after Victor could absolutely no longer let him go, telling him to leave. He couldn’t even feel any malice towards Yuuri, only the devastation, the emptiness closing in around him. And he just melted beneath it all.

“Victor.” Someone was shaking his arm. “Victor, wake up.” It was Yuuri’s voice, high pitched, over pronouncing his name. Victor opened his eyes. A wall and a window faced him. Faint, red light from the street filtered through the blinds. The street looked familiar, the street in Hatsetsu. He was in Yuuri’s room. Yuuri had never allowed Victor to spend much time in his room, but that night, Yuuri had asked him to sleep here. That had made him happy. Now, despite realizing where he actually was, he was still trying to shake off his terror.

He rolled over, and there was Yuuri, sitting up in bed staring at him. “Yuuri, you’re here.” Victor was surprised at how weak his own voice sounded. He could see Yuuri’s eyebrows knit together in worry as the faint, red light gently brushed his face. Victor remembered fully now: picking Yuuri up at the airport, driving home. He had been happy, so why did Yuuri look pained? He was about to ask, but then he realized what had happened.

Victor could feel the tears on his face, on his pillow; they were everywhere. Why did this have to happen? Why did he always cry in his sleep? He didn’t want Yuuri to see this. It had just been a dream. He felt so stupid, crying over nothing. But it was too late. He tried to wipe the tears off his face, but more appeared soon afterwards. He couldn’t stop crying. Letting Yuuri go was too much, even in a dream, for him to handle.

He knew Yuuri would eventually ask him why he was crying. He couldn’t make himself say the truth out loud. He needed to come up with a filler quickly. Tears of relief that Makkachin was fine, maybe? Tears of happiness that he was with Yuuri again? That thought just made his tears flow more quickly. He dreaded the questions Yuuri would ask. He didn’t want to lie, but the truth seemed too terrible to admit.

But Yuuri didn’t say anything at all. Would he start crying too? His eyes seemed dry and his face, calm. Instead, Yuuri leaned forward. His hands slid under Victor’s arms and around his back. They were soothingly cool. Victor’s heart beat faster as Yuuri wrapped around him. He gripped Yuuri back, probably too tightly, but it wasn’t something he could control anymore. He completely melted. With each breath, his body violently shuddered against Yuuri’s, steady and cool. 

Yuuri had surprised him once again. How did he know that Victor had just wanted someone to hold him? Victor was irritated with himself. Why hadn’t he noticed things like this about Yuuri back at the Cup of China? How could he ever let Yuuri go now? He gripped Yuuri even tighter. The tears were now spilling down Yuuri’s back. 

Victor could tell at the airport what decision Yuuri had made. He would retire after the Grand Prix Final and send Victor back to Russia to begin skating once again. That was the truth, awake or asleep; that was the reality that Victor couldn’t face. Did he actually want to skate again? He didn’t know. But, if he thought about it, he had taken a year off to find his inspiration, and he had indeed found it. His inspiration was Yuuri. Victor could no longer skate without Yuuri any more than Yuuri could skate without him.

But . . . did Yuuri really return his feelings with the same force, the same intensity? Maybe, he wasn’t just shy, maybe he really didn’t care as much. How could Yuuri send him back despite everything? Well, if Yuuri could decide on something this drastic, so could Victor. Yuuri could make him step down as coach, but he couldn’t make him leave. He would either stay in Hatsetsu with Yuuri or take Yuuri back to Russia with him. They could both skate and be together at the same time. Yuuri hadn’t shied away earlier when he had mentioned a proposal. . . . Maybe they could actually get married?

Victor felt something gliding through his hair: Yuuri’s fingers. They moved through it gently, then stopped to help support his head. Victor had stopped crying without realizing it. Then, something that was not fingers came to rest in his hair. Were those his lips? Did he just kiss me? Victor couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“Are you looking for my bald spot again, Yuuri?” he teased.

“You’re not going bald. Your hair’s just beautiful, that’s all. It’s a pleasure to touch it.” Yuuri’s voice was so soft, and his breath was warm.

“Oh . . .” Victor couldn’t think of what he was trying to say. Had Yuuri really thought that the entire time? Since July? Had he really touched his hair because it was beautiful, not because it was thin, short, and ugly instead of long and thick like it used to be? Maybe, just maybe, Yuuri really did return his feelings, all of them in the exact same way? If so, then Yuuri was stronger than Victor had ever imagined. He thought about Yuuri wanting to hold onto him just as much as he wanted to hold onto Yuuri and still being strong enough to let him go. It went beyond what Victor himself was capable of. Another surprise. Was this really true? The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

Victor thought about all his past relationships. What had ended them? Victor was too clingy; he wasn’t the person who he seemed to be in public? But, Yuuri had accepted him as he was and was willing to give up everything to ensure his happiness. He could cling to Yuuri all he wanted and not be pushed away. Yuuri would just wait and hold him, . . . and he would hold Yuuri. 

Yes, they would most definitely end up together, one way or another.

Victor could barely hold his eyes open any longer. He rested his head on Yuuri’s chest and listened to his heart beat. Rhythmic, strong, deep, it was beautiful. Yuuri was a beautiful person. As his eyes finally closed, he heard it. It was soft, faint, but it was there.

“I love you, Vitya.”

Victor thought that perhaps all those times before, when he thought his heart had broken, he had been mistaken. If his heart had even broken, it was now. He let one last tear slide down his cheek before falling to sleep after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed reading this. I might post a couple of similar scenarios in the future, especially a few based off of episode 10. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
